


Look at this Photograph

by Kestrealbird



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, but without the comfort, lots of feels, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: One of the last things he does is send all of his friend's a photograph each. Clarus' photo is of him, Regis, Aulea and a pregnant Amaryllis. Weshkam has a photo of himself fishing with Cid falling into the pond. Cid's photo is the one we see in the garage. Cor carries his photo of them all leaning against the Regalia, panting and smiling, in his breast pocket. On the back of each one is a single message. 'I'm sorry'





	Look at this Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> So I was supposed to be writing CinLu fluff but I guess my masochistic friends had other ideas and now we have this. I'm not apologizing

He looks around his bed-chamber, noting how empty and cold it feels even though the fire is crackling and the room is filled with trinkets and furniture. Perhaps, in a different life, things worked out better, and he didn’t have to lose everyone dear to him. He looks down at the thick photo album in his lap, the cover made of an old brown leather, closed tight with several golden clasps. He runs his fingers over it and maps out the scrawled letters on top; the signatures of everyone who he took on his own road trip as a teenager.

Things have gotten worse since then, and he wishes he could go back to that time of innocence and adventure.

He undoes the clasps, and when he opens the book a watery laugh escapes him. A photo of Clarus, young and boyish, dripping with fountain water and proudly holding a runaway cat in his arms, grins back at him. Underneath is his own writing, telling Clarus that he didn’t need to go that far to impress Amaryllis. Underneath that is a scribbled note from Weshkam, reminding him to get some sleep and to stop playing card games with Clarus so late at night.

A letter from Aulea, telling him that some days they’ll be a girl and other days they feel like a boy and how to tell which day is which. A picture of Clarus and Weshkam rolling in the dirt with himself in the background, doubled over in laughter.

Another letter, this time from Cor, telling him he’s an idiot if he think’s Cor actually wants to be friends. How far Cor has come since then still makes him smile, even now.

He flicks through the book and laughs when he sees himself and Cid. They’d met by a chance on a night out drinking and ended up sleeping together shortly after, and became friends the next morning. The photo shows Cid with an arm around Regis’ shoulders, a grin on his lips as he holds a cigarette out for him to try. He always was a bad influence. The next piece is a letter that makes him cringe. He decides to ignore the very bad love poem he’d written for Aulea and moves on to the pictures of his road trip.

All of them, leaning against the Regalia. Regis leaning his back against a wall, Weshkam to his right, watching what’ going on behind it, Clarus to his left, arms crossed and looking unimpressed. Cid is at the end of the wall, hair long and a cigarette in his fingers, a grin on his lips. Cor is out of the shot, doing something stupid like always.

A bunch of scribbled notes between Cid and Cor when they refused to talk to each other and continued their argument in this childish manner.

Clarus walks into the room and sits beside him. Regis sighs, and the weight of everything settles onto his shoulders once more. He turns to Clarus, with mild hope in his eyes.

“You can still leave,” he says to his Shield, “you can still live and spend another day with your children, another month with our friends.” He hopes that Clarus takes him up on that offer; hopes he won’t lead his dear friend down to his death.

He isn’t surprised when Clarus shakes his head. “I’ve already made my peace,” he says, quietly, but they both know it’s a lie. Neither of them have made peace. They’ve just accepted what’s going to happen. “I promised that I’d be with you till the end, Reggie, and I plan to keep that promise.” He grins, then, and Regis can see the boyish teenager he used to know. “Besides,” he continues, “what kind of Shield would I be if I didn’t support you up until the end?”

Regis chuckles and nods. He places the album back where it belongs and lays back on the bed, gesturing for Clarus to do the same. They lay there for the rest of the night, reminiscing and pretending not to notice each other’s choked laughs, broken voices and silent tears.

One of the last things he does is send all of his friend's a photograph each. Clarus' photo is of him, Regis, Aulea and a pregnant Amaryllis. Weshkam has a photo of himself fishing with Cid falling into the pond. Cor carries his photo of them all leaning against the Regalia, panting and smiling, in his breast pocket. On the back of each one is a single message. 'I'm sorry'

Cid places his photo into a frame and puts it on an old table in the garage. He knows the Fall is coming and he hangs his head, wrench clutched loosely in his hands. He pretends the first tear is just a bit of sweat. Pretend's the shaking is because he's cold. In a way, he supposes he is. Cindy walks in and pretend's not to notice her grandfather falling apart at the seams. He wonders if that's a blessing or not.

Weshkam stares out of his window -a photo that used to make him laugh crumpled in his fist- and glares at the clear night sky. He growls at the sound of peaceful silence, as if life itself is mocking him for what’s about to happen. He curses out Regis with all his might and hopes he gets a chance to smack him in the mouth one last time. He knows that chance won’t happen. And that’s when the tears start to fall, and he howls at the moon in rage.

Clarus stares at his photo for a long time that morning. Regis had given him a choice, had let him bow out if he wanted to. Clarus had never hesitated before, but staring at this picture, with Amaryllis smiling back at him, heavily pregnant, he thinks of his children and curses Regis. This is the only time he feels himself hesitate, because he knows he will never see them again. This time, there is no miracle; this time he’s going to die and there’s no use sugar coating it. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and walks outside to meet with Regis.

Cor can’t look at his photo for more than five minutes before he starts letting the frustration and helplessness take over. A part of him hates Regis for taking him on that trip, for being friends with him and forcing him to make friends and get attached. Another part of him is glad that he’s feeling all these emotions right now; that he isn’t just another soldier. Sometimes, when he sees the Prince and his friends laughing around a campfire, he’ll pull the photo out of his breast pocket and remember the old days, when everything was happy and nothing went wrong. And then he’ll look at Prompto and remember that he can’t die until he’s given this kid the closest thing to a dad that he can offer.


End file.
